


The Accordian Folder

by screamingrose



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:37:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingrose/pseuds/screamingrose
Summary: The words ‘Bartholomew Jones’ illuminated the bright laptop screen. The inky lettering contrasted with the illuminated surface. The name alone sent a brief flood of dread and misplaced hope through me. According to the people finder website he is 6’1”, pale as can be, has mousey brown hair, and bright blue eyes. This I already knew from previous findings and photos.Twenty-two years ago Bartholomew Jones got Fanny Hishner pregnant, crashed her car, stole from her bank account and personal belongings, and fled to god knows where. Allegedly. All this info came from Fanny herself. Now I'm gonna go get answers from the source.





	The Accordian Folder

**Author's Note:**

> This was a school project I thought I'd post it here.
> 
> If you could leave me some feedback that'd be great!

The words ‘Bartholomew Jones’ illuminated the bright laptop screen. The inky lettering contrasted with the illuminated surface. The name alone sent a brief flood of dread and misplaced hope through me. According to the people finder website he is 6’1”, pale as can be, has mousey brown hair, and bright blue eyes. This I already knew from previous findings and photos. What was news to me was that he has a felony in Orlando from ten years ago and that he’s a current resident in Modesto, Cali, but this is on the internet and who’s telling if that’s still up to date.

For the first time since I sat down to start working on this obsession I noticed the mug of black coffee next to me on my desk. I brewed the coffee that morning, it was around two o'clock now. I took hold of the mug, swirled the dark brown liquid, and took a sip. Unpleasantly cold and tart. I left my private office space to dump the coffee and order some late lunch from Joey’s. I hope Marcus delivers it.

My apartment didn’t actually have an office included when I got it. I converted the walk-in closet into one recently though. I never needed that much space for clothes anyway. Instead of racks full of pinstriped dress shirts and silk ties adorning the wall, I have maps and note paper pinned to cork boards. But that territory comes with an unhealthy obsession.

I rinsed out my cup and the coffee pot a couple times while reviewing the facts I’ve learned. Twenty-two years ago Bartholomew Jones got Fanny Hishner pregnant, crashed her car, stole from her bank account and personal belongings, and fled to god knows where. Allegedly. All this info came from Fanny herself, but she has enough motive to tank his reputation. I take her words with caution.

I swished the water in the coffee mug and dumped it into the sink. I stared blankly at the slow steady stream of water from the faucet.

His adoptive parents, Hector and Loreen Jones, have told me that he is a compulsive liar and can barely keep a goldfish alive, by choice. But who’s to say what’s actual fact or protective lies anymore. They have informed me that he has two sisters, Mavis and Carol, but those two only contact their parents when they need money. Neither Mavis nor Carol have returned my calls from last week.

Next came the coffee pot, I swirled and dumped the water from the glass pitcher into the sink until the water wasn’t a pale tan anymore. In my silent musing I found my attention derailed from the sink to a photo of my mother and myself, when I was a toddler, that was hanging on the wall. She was a lot heavier then, but Fanny’s never had a healthy relationship with food. Yes Fanny is my mother. I still hesitate to call Bartholomew my father.

A knock at my door diverts my attention from reviewing the facts I know. I made my way to the door and looked through the peephole. Marcus stood on the other side, I hadn’t realized half a hour had already passed. I stepped back from the peephole and composed myself. I had no idea if the moisture on my hands was from nervous sweat or the sink.

Breathe. In. Out. Open.

Marcus has always been godlike since I can remember, captivating brown eyes that brung me a sense of warmth and an inviting feeling, callused hands, bright blonde hair. A smile that could win awards. The ever present smell of pepperoni and pineapple wafting to my presence.

He was talking to me. I could tell cause I saw his lips move, but I was to lost in my own mental drooling over him that I missed what he had told me. He’s single which is a plus, but he’s straight which isn’t. 

We went to the same highschool five years ago. He was on the track team and I was in the Poetry club. But for some unknown reason to me he reached out and decided I was worthy enough to speak to. Even though he had given me his number way back when, it wasn’t in the flirtatious way I had been hoping.

I found myself mesmerized by his chocolate and caramel eyes that I completely forgot he was even talking to me. The door acting as my physical support as my body had decided to lean on it, making it swing ever so slightly from right to left.

“-ou ok? When was the last time you went to sleep man.” oh lord he asked me a question and I wasn’t paying attention.

Alarms were going off in my mind, most of which consisted of “DON’T ACT LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT” and “ALWAYS PAY ATTENTION”. I have no idea what it was he could’ve ask and if I don’t respond I’m gonna look like a moron. As if I haven’t done that around him before.

“...” This is where I die I guess. Time for a cop out. “Right, um, so Celestria is super fun I beat like half the campaign. And the graphics are just something else like I’ve never seen anything more beautiful on a computer screen.” except your face on Snapchat.

Marcus looked like he was having trouble believing me, honestly I couldn't blame him. I haven’t played any video games since I found that folder at Fanny’s. The contents have overrun my life since I read the notes and letters. It’s been keeping me awake at night. But Marcus was standing right infront of me with his eyebrows drawn downwards and his mouth formed a sort of nervous smile. I should’ve been paying attention to him. He can’t know about my obsession.

I didn’t like lying to him. We don’t do that. I had found myself in the habit of wringing my hands together when nervous or feeling guilt. I also meticulously hit my heel with my socked toes to an irregular beat, perhaps I was unconsciously mimicking my heart beat. God could I have been more awkward?

“Oh, that’s great man, I would love to play with you sometime if you don’t mind. Just remember to get sleep too, yeah?” He stood in the hallway, pizza box still in one of those thermal carry bags.

I didn’t understand why he still had it, then I remembered that I hadn’t given him the ten dollars yet. I apologized, handed him the ten and I exchanged it for the pizza. Before I could turn to deposit the box on my kitchen counter, I felt his hand wrap around my arm, keeping me secured to the entryway.

“Just let me know if you need anything ok?” my hands started to tremble, the box wiggled slightly. The pineapple and pepperoni pizza I smelled earlier now making me nauseous.

His hand let go of me and a few seconds later I heard the soft click of my door closing.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was half past four in the morning when I realized that the sky was a dark and blotted black with very few stars scattered in it. I was in my makeshift office sitting at my modest ebony desk. My laptop was sitting closed on top of the desk, one of my many obsession filled cork boards hung on the wall above it. I sat leaning backwards in the chair, sipping my…fifth cup of coffee. I wasn’t sure anymore to be honest.

The accordion folder mocked me, just sitting there next to my laptop. Filled with secrets and more questions than answers. The court cases and accident reports lined up with what Fanny had told me, but the letters and pictures he sent did not. Fanny told me he never tried to contact me, that he never cared. Who could I trust? None of the facts Fanny told me added up with the evidence I found and I can’t just show up out of the blue and ask him.

My phone blipped a soft blue light, indicating a notification. I lifted it off of my thigh and looked at what was trying to get my attention. Marcus had been texting me on and off since six o’clock, making sure I was ok and whatnot.

 

**_You need to go to bed dude. I’m worried about you._ **

_I’m ok Marc, just got some stuff on my mind._

**_Do you want to talk about it? I don’t gotta work tomorrow so I can stay up with you if you need._ **

_...You’ll think differently of me._

_**I would never.** _

 

And for once in my life when it came to Marcus, I let my inhibitions go and I let him in. I told him what Fanny told me. About what Bartholomew did back then. About the accordion folder. I finally let him into my obsession. The cork boards that consumed me. The endless coffee fueled nights. My grades plummeting because of the lies and mystery.

 

_**Dude.** _

**_That’s fucked._ **

_You’re telling me._

_**…Do you wanna find him?** _

 

I blanked at that question. Did I? What would I even say, what would I do? Wanting answers was what was fueling me in this bizzare quest, but I never thought about actually going to get them. Instead I sat in the warzone of evidence.

 

_How would I even do that? He’s in Modesto according to the computer._

**_Dude that’s literally three hours tops by plane if we go to San Antonio._ **

**_The cheapest flight is around 300 bucks_ **

**_What do you say dude?_ **

 

I didn’t really think about that to be honest. That’s half of what I spend on rent and the weekend was coming up, perfect time for a father hunt. But something he said struck me as odd.

 

_What do you mean ‘we’?_

_**Oh I’m definitely coming with you.** _

_**…If that’s ok I mean?** _

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

California was...well California. Glitz and glam and whatever. Everything everyone said it was and that in itself was a let down. Marcus was driving a rental car we had got for the time we would be here; I was to busy regretting this decision to make small talk about the scenery.

The plane ride wasn’t anything to write home about. It was a plane ride, simple as that. Marcus advised that I should take a nap, most of the time he did just that. I was to preoccupied rereading letter after letter.

**“How do I even know he’s getting the presents or cards I send?”**

**“I don’t know if your mom has any pictures of me.”**

**“Thank you for the picture of our son, for all these years I’ve wondered what he’s looked like.”**

I never saw those letters until I found that folder. I never knew about them. Or the presents. Or the recorded bedtime stories on cassette. Fanny didn’t even try to deny it when she found me holding it. She told me to read everything and see how Bartholomew ruined her life. I did and I still wanted to hear his side of it all.

Marcus turned down a side street from the main road and we ended up in a quaint neighborhood. Nothing fancy but definitely doing ok for themselves. He pulled up to a bright blue and dull yellow house. It had a white picket fence surrounding the freshly cut grass. There was a dog house in the yard. Fido. How original.

“This is the address right?” Marcus turned to me and immediately started to try and get me to breathe. I didn’t realize til then that I was having a hard time doing that. We were here. I WAS HERE. What was I gonna say, would he know who I was? Would he care? He stopped writing letters like ten years ago why would he remember me?

“Hey hey it’s ok just look at me.” he grabbed my arm and used his thumb to rub it in a circular motion. It helped somewhat.

“I’m…I’m alright. Come on, let’s go.” I pulled away from his hand and got out of the car.

We walked up to the front door, the tulips in the flower boxes swaying in the light breeze. I knocked on the door.

No response.

I was about to turn tail and run back to Austin but then Marcus rubbed my back and the door opened up slightly so of course I couldn’t leave now.

She was a little shorter than me. Red hair, green eyes, freckles all over her face. She was cute with a puzzled face. “Um hi can I help you?” she crossed her arms and leaned into the doorframe. She was wearing a tanktop and pj shorts, little footie socks covered her feet. She popped a cherry sucker into her mouth without a care.

“I’m looking for Bartholomew Jones. I’m his son when he was with Fanny Hishner. Last place I knew this was his home. Do I have the wrong address?” she looked at me with bug eyes, the sucker almost falling out of her mouth.

“...Oh well um I guess I should introduce myself then.” she thrust her hand out inviting me to shake it “I’m Loreen Jones, guess I’m your sister then.”

I. Was. Ecstatic.

Loreen invited us into the house and we caught up over a cup of tea or two. A sister. I have a sister. That’s insane. She wanted to know who Marcus was, she jokingly said we looked cute together. If this was what having a sibling was like I would gladly take the teasing anyday.

“So when does Bartholomew get home? This has kinda been invading my life since I found the letters.” She was idly playing with the coffee mug’s handle, not meeting my gaze.

“Yeah, about that...how about I take you. I was just about to go anyway before you guys showed up.”

I didn’t understand what she meant but I followed her out to the grey Buick parked in the driveway. Marcus followed me into the backseat and off we went.

A somber silence fell over the car, I don’t know what changed the mood but I wasn’t going to try and fix it and make this ride more awkward.

It wasn’t until we drove into the cemetery that I understood why. Loreen parked the car and got out, she had a letter in her hands addressed to our father. She waited for us to exit the car before she continued down the path. I don’t remember much that transpired after that. I just felt numb and alone. I didn’t realize that Marcus had been holding my hand until much later in the day. 

We went to his grave, it was nothing majestic. Just a marble headstone. Loreen sat the letter in front of it and knelt beside it. “Hi Daddy. Sorry I’m late. I brought some guests with me today. They really wanted to meet you.” she started to tear up after that. “I know that they would’ve loved to get to know you in person.”

At that point I knelt down next to her, tears had started to stream down my face as I spoke. At this point I noticed Marcus had my hand and was running his thumb over it slowly.

“Hi Dad. I’m Arthur. Sorry it took me so long.”

**“I love you no matter what”.**


End file.
